


Rules for Hand Holding

by Hadithi



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadithi/pseuds/Hadithi
Summary: He has some rules to make sure their hand holding doesn't get weird, no matter what his heart is doing.
Relationships: Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe
Comments: 82
Kudos: 362





	Rules for Hand Holding

Steven has held Connie's hand since they were kids. He never thought about it. He held lots of hands. Not only that, but much of the hand holding took place during life or death scenarios, where there was no opportunity to be weird about it. Not that he was ever weird about it outside of combat either. Steven and Connie held hands and it was fine and it never, ever got weird.

Even if he had to make rules to make sure it stayed that way.

**1\. Don’t stare at her dresses.**

Steven likes dresses. He likes how the unbroken swaths of fabric flow and move. He likes how so many are cut to tighten at the waist and flow out at the hips. He likes how they fly up when the person wearing them does a twirl.

It's a platonic love of dresses, really. There's nothing romantic or... anything else at all in the way he feels about dresses. He and dresses are best friends, which is totally normal and very calm and he really just wants to be Jam Buds with dresses.

It doesn't matter that dresses have gotten especially pretty. They make dresses differently for fifteen year old girls than twelve year old girls. Something about the cut, maybe, because dresses look so different on Connie in recent years. And blouses. And t-shirts. But especially, especially dresses, because the fabric hangs-

It doesn't matter. Because he's really not supposed to think about dresses. He takes her warm hand in his as they relax at the cookout, staring at the ocean, and he does his best to forget that she's wearing a royal blue empire waist dress that flows to her ankles like dark ocean water coming up to drown him in everything she is and everything he loves about her and everything he needs from her.

It totally works. This is normal.

**2\. Don't think about how her hand feels.**

Most of the problem is that he's too aware of her hand in his. It's probably a new gem power or something. He's hyperaware of how warm her skin is against his. It makes him think his hands must be freezing. It's not even cold out. Or maybe it is? He's wearing a jacket. She isn't.

He glances at her (not her dress, very much not her dress) and her bare arms and he's looking for goosebumps. He doesn't see any. So it's not cold. So he shouldn't offer his jacket. Why did he even start thinking about that? Oh, right, because her hand is warm in his so his hand must be cold to her. She's never said he has cold hands. That's nice of her not to mention.

Their fingers are laced together and he's really not supposed to think about that right now, but he can feel her long, slender, perfect for violin or piano fingers laced between his larger ones. He can feel the callouses on her palms, rough everywhere. Connie uses swords and tools and catches herself when they wrestle in the sand and her hands are working hands. More than his. Does she think it's weird that his hands are so soft?

Maybe she could like that. Romance stories talk about rough and smooth hands pretty evenly, so he's got a good shot. Not that he's pining for a shot or anything. He's not pining for anything. He's just holding her hand and not thinking about how it feels so nice to be here with her together, and how he's felt those fingers around his bare wrist, saving his life. And how he felt those fingers through his shirt as she kissed his cheek.

Not thinking about that at all. He needs to think of something else before it gets weird.

**3\. Don't have romantic fantasies.**

The problem with not thinking about her hand is that he has to think about something else. And, lately, ever since she kissed him on the cheek (she kissed him!) he keeps fantasizing about their wedding more than normal. Because, obviously he fantasizes about their wedding, because he loves weddings, and he fantasizes about his wedding with her because her hand is warm and gentle and her thumb sweeps across the back of his hand like they're already married.

But it's no good to fantasize about their wedding because he's supposed to not be in love with her. In love with dresses. In love with anything to do with Connie, because he's pretty sure he ruined her life with evil villains and terrifying missions and also there's a lot of stuff about his body and guilt and-

Oh, her thumb is still rubbing his hand. That's so nice. Kind of new, too. She usually just did it once or twice, but now it's a rhythm. He breathes with it. It matches the waves. He could write a song to this. He's written songs to ocean waves before.

His mind drifts inevitably to the idea of them getting married. He always imagines her in a pretty suit or a sari, like her mother's wedding photo. He's never sure what he wants. Sometimes he thinks a pretty dress. Sometimes he thinks about a very fancy tux. It's his wedding. He gets to go all out.

He used to think about flower arrangements and decorations more. He thinks a lot more about vows now - which are a normal, important part of any wedding. He's just practicing. He might not marry Connie, if she doesn't want him, so it's definitely not weird to think about.

And it's not weird that he gets a fluttery feeling in his belly when he takes the very real feeling of her hand in his and imagines how he'd softly kiss her fingers, and maybe call her his knight. Because it's silly and romantic and maybe she'd make that cute blushing face? Or even gasp? And she'd smile.

She could kiss his hand back, then, and she could say something sweet like, "I love you" or joking and say "My lord" or that way she said "It's funny that I have to look up at you now though", except instead she'd say "My Diamond"

_ What? _

No. No, wait. _ What? _

**4\. Don't - Wait, sorry, what?**

What was _ that _ ? Why was his stomach full of very crazy butterflies? Why was his face so hot? What? They're just holding hands? He's not thinking of anything but holding hands they're just holding hand _ what is happening _

"Strength check," Connie murmurs beside him.

He gasps sharply and eases the grip that's been clamping down on her. He drops her hand entirely, actually. She shakes it out with a giggle, then sets it back down, palm up for him to take away. "Gees. Been a while since you needed the reminder. Are you okay?"

"Uh huh," he says, his mouth dry. No. He's not okay. What was that? He doesn’t want to be her Diamond. Or, well, he doesn’t want her to be his pet. Or his servant. But him being her Diamond doesn’t mean that, necessarily. It could mean a lot of things. He has no idea what it’s supposed to mean, but there’s something indescribably stomach fluttery about the way her voice sounds in his head.

She’s so dedicated to him, and that’s so… so…

He can’t breathe as she takes his hand again, her palm slowly sliding against his. He has memorized every rough and smooth patch on her hand by now. He’s not supposed to think about how her hand feels, because it gets weird, but it’s so, so much safer to focus on the feel of her familiar palm against his than whatever new strangeness his fantasies are turning to.

The Don’t rules are clearly not working. He’s got to try something else.

**5\. Do try to shift the focus onto Connie.**

Instead of dealing with confusing things, he instead focuses on her. He rests his head on her shoulder, like he’s done countless times before as they watch the sea. She sighs, and it’s wonderful. She’s wonderful. He’s at home beside her, because she _ is _ home. He knew it as Stevonnie, with the endless gulf of space between him and his house, when everything was somehow kind of okay as long as they were together.

“Do I touch you too much?” he says. He rephrases it, because it’s too much about him. “Does it bother you that I touch you a lot?”

“I would’ve said something by now if it did,” she says with a little giggle. Her hand squeezes his. “I think it’s nice. My family isn’t as touchy as yours, so most physical stuff I get comes from your and the gems. I think I’d get pretty lonely without it.”

“Good.” He tries not to sigh, and sighs anyway. She smells like something fruity today. Her hair smells like her hair. He doesn’t know what her shampoo is supposed to smell like, but it’s smelled the same ever since he met her, and it’s comforting. He’s never figured out a way to ask her what it is that doesn’t sound weird. Her hand is still warm in his.

He moves his thumb firmly across her palm, more of a massage than a stroke, and she makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

_ n o p e _

**6\. Don’t do anything that makes her make that noise**

Steven is having a 

_ p l a t o n i c _

Evening with Connie, thank you very much. Everything is fine and nothing is weird and they are holding hands. All they will ever do is hold hands. His brain is absolutely not shattering into a million tiny pieces with every breath she makes. He is not hyperaware of the way her skin feels against his each time she shifts of her fingers twitch. Because he is having a

_ p l a t o n i c _

Evening with Connie. He’s not thinking about asking her a math problem, because he knows that she learned all her early math on an abacus and anytime she does percentages and simple algebra and multiplication her fingers twitch involuntarily as muscle memory takes over and shows her the answer, and he could feel her tap that onto his skin. He could literally _ feel _ her think if he asked her and she probably wouldn’t even think twice about it.

That thought is so wonderful. So wonderful. He’s completely in love with the idea and he can’t believe he’s never done it before. His heart is pounding against his ribs as he keeps thinking and thinking about it. He could _ feel _ her think. He loves the way she thinks. He thinks that she’s so brilliant and the idea of feeling the patterns of her mind dance across his skin is so intense he can feel tears prickle at his eyes. He’s such a mess. This is a

_ p l a t o n i c _

Evening with Connie, but only because he doesn’t know how to make it into something else. He’s not supposed to be scared of his feelings. He’s not supposed to be confused about this. It’s Connie. His Connie. His best friend. He isn’t supposed to go and ruin everything because he’s falling in love with her, and he doesn’t even know if she’d ever be interested in love at all. He doesn’t know if she’ll ever be interested in him at all.

After all, he

**7\. Don’t hold her hands after the world was nearly destroyed and you just**

**8\. Don’t need her so badly you walked away from Spinel and what if she**

**9\. Don’t make a big deal of this, Steven**

**10\. Don’t make this weird, Steven, like you do everything else**

**11\. Don’t push this relationship stuff.**

**11a. Because that would be like Kevin**

**11b. Or the Diamonds**

**11c. ** ** _My Diamond_ **

His hands are shaking in hers. Her thumb strokes slowly over it. “Just a thought?”

Steven tries to speak, but he has to suck in air to do it. It comes out as a gasp. “A lot of thoughts.”

Her hands are on his face, her forehead against his. She breathes in, deep and loud. She holds it. She lets it go. It matches the waves. It matches the stroke of her thumb across his hand. He breathes with her. Steady. Steady. Steady. Flexibility. Love. Trust. There’s always that, no matter what. She’s there. He’s there. They’re breathing.

“I thought,” he says, voice cracking. “I thought about you calling me your diamond, like you would call me your lord. I thought it’d be cute. I’m sorry.”

“It could be cute,” she soothes him gently. “It’d _ always _ just be cute, because I know who you are. You’re never going to be them.”

“I’m ruining the cookout,” he says, but he means _ I’m ruining everything. I’m ruining us. I can’t even hold your hand without getting greedy. _

“Nah, we’re already hiding from everyone else. It’s just you and me, and you can’t ruin that. _ Nothing _ can ruin that.” She lets go of his hand, but just to wrap her arms around him. There’s another soft kiss on his cheek as her face moves by his, and then her chin is on his shoulder, her body leaning on his. This is so much more than hand holding.

He breathes in the comforting scent of her hair. He wants to tell her he wants more kisses. He wants more hand holding. He wants to talk about what more could mean to both of them. But he’s broken so many of the rules that keep him safe today that he just can’t. Instead, he holds her hand and murmurs, “What’s the tip on a twenty three dollar pizza?”

Her fingers brush along his palm as her mind works quickly. “Six dollars and ninety cents for a thirty percent tip.”

He loves her with everything he has.

He holds her hand and it’ll somehow be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm moving across the country and I'm sad and when I'm sad I write.


End file.
